


Housewarming

by queenmab_scherzo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Hot Tub Sex, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, and doing it, bunch of jackasses standing in a circle, ice finally melts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 17:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12085497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenmab_scherzo/pseuds/queenmab_scherzo
Summary: Steve and Bucky have friends over for the first party at their new mansion. Eli's daughters are adorable, Sam has a confession to make, Natasha secretly loves greasy food, and after everyone else leaves, Isaiah finally gives in.





	Housewarming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lisainthesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisainthesky/gifts).



> This was supposed to be 100% gratuitous M/M/M porn. Somehow a bunch of friendly teasing got me distracted at the beginning, so instead, it's like, 50% domestic bliss, 50% gratuitous porn.

“You’re not gonna try one of Clint’s drinks?”

Natasha shoots Steve her most skeptical look. “Are you kidding?” she says, and pauses to take a drink from her half-empty beer. “You could run a Mack Truck with one of Clint’s Long Islands.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Steve grins.

“There are children present,” Natasha says.

Eli’s six-year-old likes to swim, and she’s getting the hang of playing catch with those little squeegy-water-footballs. Or at least, she’s getting the hang of chucking it at her dad, watching it splash all over him, and shrieking with laughter. That’s where most of Bucky’s attention lies, right now. That, and also the way Steve’s toes occ _ as _ ionally just  _ happen _ to wiggle against Bucky’s ankles. No one can see from the hot tub bubbles, but also no one would be surprised. And Bucky’s relaxed enough from his third beer to return the favor once in awhile.

Wait. Maybe fourth beer.

Anyway, he’s relaxed, and probably not being secretive about the flirting.

For one thing, Isaiah is seated between them, and he might not mention it out loud, but nothing really gets by him. He’s not  _ in _ the hot tub, though, not all the way. Someone brought over a few chairs, those lounge-chairs that sit like 5 inches off the ground, and Isaiah’s actually using one, sitting on the end, feet dangling in the jacuzzi between Steve and Bucky’s shoulders.

“You could get in, you know,” Steve offers, tilting a little so he can see Ice’s face.

Ice shrugs. “You dragged the chairs all the way over here,” he says. “Might as well use one.”

“You’re so much more polite than Steve.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

Some kind of dying-animal-noise erupts from the shallow end of the pool.

“No, no, nope!” Kate says, guiding her four-year-old away from the edge of the pool. “I told you, if you threw one more rock, you would be done.”

“Noooo!”

“What did you do?”

“Noooo!”

“You threw another rock, didn’t you?”

_ “Noooo!” _

Bucky, Steve, Natasha, and Isaiah watch the meltdown transpire from the safety of the hot tub.

“I won’t throw one!” Tanya bawls.

“Are you telling the truth?”

“I don’t knowwwww!”

Bucky shakes his head. “Relatable.”

Isaiah snorts.

“Feeling a strong ‘no’ with this whole situation,” Natasha says drily.

“Being an uncle is  _ great,” _ Isaiah agrees.

Kate dries off her daughter, crouching down to her level, and gently reminds her that some things are dangerous and that’s why we don’t do them. “Didn’t Daddy ask you to stop throwing rocks?” she asks, and after a watery nod, she adds, “He doesn’t want a rock to hurt him or hurt your sister. Do you want to hurt your sister?”

“No.”

“That’s why we asked you to stop.” Kate takes Tanya’s hand and leads her to the house. “Does that make sense?”

He doesn’t hear the answer, but Tanya looks slightly less distressed. She seems to get it. It’s sweet.

Bucky’s “no” in this situation is maybe less strong than Natasha’s.

“Well, looks like the kids are getting tired,” Natasha says. “And I’m not far behind.”

“Really?” Bucky asks. “Isn’t it only … what time is it?”

“Like ten,” Isaiah chuckles.

Bucky blinks. “Feels like we just ate, dude.”

“We ate  _ hours _ ago,” says Clint, summoned by the mere mention of food, and he squats next to Natasha. He shakes his glass of ice. “I’m out of these and I’m thinking time to bounce? Find the closest drive thru?”

“We have more food,” Steve points out.

“Yeah but you have, like,  _ good _ food.” Clint rattles his glass again and tips it into his mouth, even though it’s pretty much all melted ice at this point. “It’s too late for good food,” he clarifies. “I need over-salted fries that have been gathering grease for like twenty minutes.”

“I think there’s a McDonald’s on the way,” Natasha says, and somehow doesn’t look grossed-out by soggy french fries.

Out of nowhere, a squeegy ball hurtles toward them, and Isaiah snags it out of the air before it gives Steve a black eye.

Steve blinks.

“Like a cat,” Isaiah says with a smirk.

Steve is staring at him like he’s not even joking. “Yeah.”

“Saved your life.”

“Really though,” Steve says, in his uniquely dumb, earnest way. “I owe you.”

“Everyone okay?!” Eli calls.

Steve cranes his neck. “Thanks to Isaiah!”

“Uncle Ice caught it!” Monica squeals.

Eli rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that was a good throw. I think that’s a good one to  _ end _ on.”

“I want to play catch!”

“We don’t have any more balls,” Eli says with a note of finality.

So that begins the process of removing the older kid from the swimming pool. And it  _ is _ a process. Eli spends a lot of time walking in circles after her and suggesting other cool things they could do, like eating dessert and finding her sister, none of which seem to compete with swimming after dark.

During the process, Sam emerges from the deep end and props his elbows up on the cement edge of the pool. “Someone hand me my phone?”

“Welcome back to dry land,” Natasha says lightly.

Sam is a fish. How he got to be some kind of Olympic swimmer while also becoming the best wide receiver in the NFL is a mystery to Bucky, and also very unfair. This is Sam, though. Like, what  _ isn’t _ he good at.

“My phone, dude,” Sam repeats. “Please?”

Clint retrieves it from a nearby chair and approaches the edge of the pool. “You’re gonna get it wet, man.”

“I’m good,” Sam says, reaching up. “What d’you think the seven is for? Fully submersible for up to 30 minutes.” He makes grabby hands.

“I don’t think the 30-minute-thing is a recommendation,” Natasha says.

Too late. Sam is beyond not paying attention. He’s snagged the phone and he’s already typing furiously.

“You’ve been on your phone all night,” Clint says, and he sounds genuinely curious. “What have you been up to?”

Sam waves his hand in a sort of it-wouldn’t-interest-you-anyway gesture. 

“More like, who have you been  _ talking _ to?” Natasha asks pointedly.

Sam does her the courtesy of looking up and smiling.

“Ooh!” Steve says, sitting up straighter. “Is it  _ Ri-ley?” _ he teases.

“Sure is.” Sam continues to text without a hint of embarrassment.

Steve blinks. “Wait. Really?”

“Yup.”

And, without batting an eye, Sam sets his phone on the cement and pulls himself out of the pool, stretching and cracking his back. 

Clint cringes at the puddle of water dripping around Sam’s phone. “Really, I don’t mean to nag, but I’ve seen a lot of phones damaged that way, you know?”

“Why don’t you tell everyone how many of those phones belonged to  _ you, _ Clint?” Natasha says lightly.

Sam retrieves his phone and waves it in front of Clint. “It’s fine, see? Want me to call you and prove it?”

“No no no no no,” Bucky says, before they get carried away. “Don’t change the subject.”

Steve flails a little. “Yeah, seriously, is Riley a thing now?”

“Working on it,” Sam says, looking way too smug for his own good.

“Are you kidding?” Steve says. And Steve — in the Steve-est way possible — looks simultaneously like a kid with a new toy  _ and _ the dad who gave it to him. “Working on it? Working on what?”

Sam wiggles his eyebrows.

“Are you gonna  _ kiss him?” _ Bucky teases.

“Oh, we already did that part,” Sam waves a hand dismissively.

A beat of silence.

Then everyone talks at once.

“Excuse me?!”

“You already  _ what?” _

“You told us about him like a  _ week _ ago!”

“Nice, bro.”

“Wait, wait, everyone stop,” Steve says. “Sam  _ Wilson. _ Did you … begin a relationship … without  _ telling _ us?”

“Calm down, Mom,” Sam says. He rubs the back of his neck. “‘Relationship’ might be a little generous.”

“Are you messing around with a rookie?!” Steve says, and his voice totally lives up to the Mom nickname.

“He’s literally older than me,” Sam deadpans. Then his eyes sharpen.  _ “Some _ of us got drafted early.”

“Call me when you win a Super Bowl,” Ice cuts in.

“Can everyone chill, please?” Sam asks. “I’m not  _ messing around _ with anyone. I’m tryna figure out a way to do something  _ other _ than kissing, alright?”

Natasha whistles.

“Not — God — Natasha — not like  _ that _ _ — _ _ ” _ Sam stutters. “I mean, well, that too. But. I just gotta figure out a time to visit California, alright?”

“California?” Steve asks.

“He lives in Pasadena.”

This, of course, is when Eli finally turns up with Monica under one arm. “Who lives in Pasadena?”

“Riley.”

“Sam’s new boyfriend,” Natasha clarifies.

“All we did is kiss!!”

“Wait,” Eli interrupts, setting his daughter down. (She immediately makes a beeline for the hot tub.) “Wait, Sam is — since when does Sam kiss boys?”

“Didn’t Sam make out with Bucky on New Year’s?” Clint asks thoughtfully.

“This is different,” Sam says. “I want this to happen again."

“Aw, come on.”

Isaiah gives Bucky a consoling pat on the shoulder.

“Sam kissed Bucky!” Monica bellows, leaping out of the hot tub. She sprints toward the back door, shouting “Sam kissed Bucky! Sam kissed Bucky!” and flinging water everywhere.

“And on that note,” Eli says. He rolls his eyes and jabs a finger in Sam’s chest. “I expect details.”

Sam throws his arms up in a 100% unconvincing show of innocence. “Have you people ever heard of a private life?!”

“Aw, we’re just lookin’ out for ya, Sammy,” Clint says, clapping his shoulder.

Natasha unfolds herself from the hot tub, uniquely graceful, like unfolding origami. “Football is so gay.”

Isaiah ducks his head, shaking with laughter. He kind of tilts into Bucky as he laughs, and his knee kind of bumps Bucky’s shoulder, kind of this  _ you-have-no-idea _ vibe. 

“French fries?” Clint asks.

Natasha nods. “Well, the new Barnes-Rogers homestead is nice,” she announces. “Thanks for having us over. Let’s do it again, sometime. All that.”

“Any time,” Bucky waves.

“Wait, wait.” Steve kind of melts into his smile. He grabs for Natasha and misses. “I can show you out.”

“Stop,” she says, with a reassuring arm on his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll direct traffic.”

Bucky kicks Steve under the bubbles where no one can see. “Thanks, Nat.”

They’re kind of flying by the seat of their pants, here. They’ve only had the house for a couple months and Eli’s family already disappeared and Bucky’s never Hosted Company before, but there’s lots of pretty Home Depot lights circling the pool area. And the kids probably left some kind of trail of breadcrumbs or, like, pool noodles or tennis balls or something. The point is, they’re not trying to impress anyone, here.

Sam moves to follow Natasha, except Steve  _ does _ manage to snag him by the wrist. “Sam, wait, Sam. Is this really for real?”

“I told you,” Sam says, not unkindly, “I’m working on it.”

Steve spins around awkwardly and gets up on his knees in the hot tub. He pulls Sam down for a hug. “I’m freaking out.”

“Clearly,” Sam says, patting him between the shoulder blades. He shoots Bucky and Ice a soft smile.

“Is Steve drunk?” Bucky asks under his breath.

“He snuck a Long Island,” Ice mutters.

That explains the footsie and the hugging.

Steve tightens his arms around Sam’s neck. “You should invite Riley next time.”

“Oh, come on — ”

“I’m serious!” Steve finally releases Sam so he can give him a really stern-but-also-fond stare. Because he’s a Mom. “Invite him over.”

“I don’t live here,” Sam reminds him.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Understood.”

Bucky sits forward. “You don’t have to go.”

“You kidding?” Sam says. “I’m gonna go look up plane tickets.” With that, he finally leaves, and Steve finally lets him.

“Hey!” Bucky calls. “I don’t wanna kiss you again either!”

Sam flips him off and disappears through the sliding glass door.

The pretty outdoor lighting makes their little oasis sparkle, not to mention the gold light from all the windows spills out and soaks everything with a sort of liminal-evening-at-the-spa feeling. Without Clint or Sam or the kids, it’s so, so much quieter. Bucky relaxes into the night sounds, the pillow of crickets and cicadas and rustling leaves.

Isaiah shifts overhead. Kicks his feet and sends a gentle wave over to the unoccupied side of the hot tub. “Guess it’s my turn.”

Steve’s face falls.

“Your turn to get refills,” Bucky mumbles.

Ice looks at him.

Bucky looks back.

This is a game Bucky usually wins. He reserves his good Winter Soldier-level stares for messing with people. Like Sam Wilson and … mostly Sam Wilson. So Bucky  _ tries _ it, but geez, Isaiah’s stare really is carved out of thunderclouds. 

Somewhere in the very distant distance, Steve speaks. “There’s margarita mix in the freezer.”

Isaiah ducks his head, and Bucky takes the win. “Yeah, I’ll get refills,” Isaiah says with a sort of shy smile aimed at his feet. He pulls them out of the water and splashes over to the back door. His shorts are still dry, Bucky notices. Out the corner of his eye, he can see Steve noticing the way Bucky notices.

“I can look!” Bucky says defensively.

Steve holds up both innocent hands. “I looked,” he agrees.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky bites his lip and crawls across the hot tub bench for a kiss. One kiss, but like, a nice long kiss. With steam and jet bubbles and everything.

Glass clinks overhead.

Steve pulls away and looks up and it’s like light beams hitting his face. “Ice is back.”

“Yeah, I thought you wanted refills,” Ice grumbles. “Not … anyway.” He waves vaguely between Bucky and Steve, trying not to spill three stemless glasses of frozen margarita in the process. “Everyone else is gone,” he adds, voice pointedly casual.

Bucky has a little courtesy, and he untangles himself from Steve, who has no courtesy, and no shame whatsoever, and just grins. Steve reaches for Isaiah.

“Chill man,” Ice says. “You’re gonna make me spill.”

“Nah, let me help,” Steve says, grabbing a glass and setting it aside. He reaches up again.

“Don’t I get one?” Isaiah chuckles. “Or they all for you?”

“It’s not the drink he wants,” Bucky says.

“Will you get in, already?” Steve says with a little hint of quarterback in his voice.

Isaiah considers him, and Bucky notices how the muscles around his mouth tense, and notices the way he pulls his bottom lip under his teeth. He’s cute when he tries so hard not to smile.

“Too hot,” Isaiah finally determines, and returns to his spot on the chair, feet dipping into the water.

“What’s the matter, Ice?” Steve asks, and he does  _ not _ try to hide his smile. Ever. “You think you’re gonna melt?” He laughs at his own joke.

Bucky sets his own drink aside. “He’s right, it’s hot.” He pulls himself out and plops onto the chair next to Isaiah’s.

Steve’s face looks the way Monica’s looked when they told her to get out of the pool. He reaches around, takes a long drink from his margarita, and states, “You guys are rude.”

Bucky kicks water at him.

Steve slides closer and winds his arms around Isaiah’s leg. “I could just pull you in, you know?”

“Yeah, if you wanna end your life, you hear me?”

A ridiculous grin splits Steve’s face, because he’s Steve Rogers, and he’s the only person in the world who would look so stupid giddy in the face of bodily harm. He laughs and grips Isaiah tighter. He doesn’t pull him into the hot tub, but he does drop his forehead onto Ice’s knee, still giggling.

“He’d a pulled me in by now,” Bucky says.

Isaiah bumps him with his shoulder and shakes his head. Takes a drink. Sets his glass on the ground, out of the splash zone.

“Your move, Rogers,” Isaiah says.

Steve looks up and props his chin on Isaiah’s thigh. The look on his face is unbearably cheesy. Also, it’s a familiar look, the whole long-lashed gaze with a soft smile and pink cheeks which could be from the hot water and the steam but they all know it’s not. They all know what he’s thinking.

Well, hang on. Bucky gives Ice a sort of sideways glance, because he’s not sure —until—yeah, judging by the look on Isaiah’s face, he  _ also _ knows  _ exactly _ what’s on Steve’s mind.

Bucky’s first thought is  _ oh, nice, _ and his second thought is really just a siren going off around his belly button.

Isaiah’s looking at Steve the same way Steve’s looking at  _ him, _ which is to say, the stuff of Nicholas Sparks posters. Somehow he looks softer with his hair up, piled on top of his head so the ends hang in his face and twitch whenever he blinks. The pink is fading a little, not that the look suffers for it at all.

Steve’s hand appears from the water, climbing up Isaiah’s calf, curling around the back of his knee. Bucky feels Isaiah twitch next to him.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks.

Isaiah blinks faster. He glances at Bucky and kind of rocks into him for reassurance. He gives Steve a jerky nod.

Steve sighs a little.

Yeah, that’s a familiar look.

Steve kisses Isaiah’s knee, and presses closer, dragging his lips up Ice’s inner thigh. Bucky’s breath goes ragged. Pretty soon, Steve reaches Isaiah’s crotch, and noses at the bulge there, and takes the fabric of the swim trunks between his teeth. 

Isaiah’s hand shoots out and grips Bucky’s thigh. They both make a little involuntary grunting noise and Bucky just about fucking folds in on himself. 

Steve is still going to work, tugging uselessly at Isaiah’s shorts, and it’s very cute and very pitiful and makes Bucky very hard. Isaiah uses Bucky’s thigh as leverage so he can lift his hips up—which is fucking gorgeous—look at the way he just arches like—

And then his shorts are off, and Bucky’s like full hi-def view of Steve’s big blue eyes next to Isaiah’s beautiful hard-on and this is definitely the way Bucky dies and he’s definitely okay with it.

Without looking away from Ice’s face, Steve licks a slow, warm stripe up the underside of his dick. Isaiah’s grip on Bucky’s thigh tightens. Isn’t there an important artery somewhere in there? Yeah, Bucky’s gonna lose the leg.

It’s fine.

Very slowly, very deliberately, Steve takes Isaiah’s dick in his mouth. You can still kind of see his smile, even with his lips full, even as they slide closer to Isaiah’s balls. 

And the absolutely  _ wild _ moan it draws out of Isaiah. It’s louder than Bucky’s ever heard him, probably. That’s the moment. That’s when it’s too much, and Bucky can’t just watch anymore, or he’s gonna burst into flame and crumple into a heap of ash.

He takes Isaiah’s face in both hands and kisses him. Just turns his head and crushes their lips together and Ice is still moaning, so it’s this filthy, loud, open-mouthed kiss that tastes like sour drink mix and salt and sweat. It’s more tongue than lips, and it’s more desperate whining than tongue. Bucky spares a hand to reach for his own waistband—he deserves it, alright—and tries to push his trunks down without a lot of success. But the stimulation is good. And before long, someone is helping him, yanking at the wet fabric until his dick springs free. Isaiah gives him another long, salt-rimmed groan and Bucky swallows it down.

Involuntarily, Bucky’s hips are kind of grinding into nothing. He gasps for breath and takes the chance to glance at Steve, whose face is wrecked, lips red and swollen around Isaiah’s dick. Bucky whimpers. He’s about to come in thin air, how the hell has Ice lasted this long, honestly.

“Fuck,” Isaiah whines, dragging Bucky back for another deep kiss. He pushes Bucky’s lips apart with his tongue.

No, really. Bucky’s about to lose it.

Bucky’s shorts finally scrape down around his knees, and he can feel a hand slide up his inner thigh, and another hand gently wrap around his dick, and another hand — another hand? Where the fuck are all these hands coming from, who the fuck — that’s fair, though. It’s only fair, because like, Bucky’s kind of ripping apart but Isaiah is flat-out in pieces right now. He must be the one tugging Bucky’s hair,, his grip spasming some kind of Morse code against Bucky’s scalp.

And the  _ sounds _ he’s making. They’re just better than a five-star restaurant. Bucky shoves his tongue in Ice’s mouth again because it tastes so stupid good and he can’t get enough.

“Ice,” Bucky whispers, kind of talking and sloppy-kissing at the same time. “Ice, fuck, what —”

And that’s it. It’s unmistakeable, coming from someone who gets Steve-blow-jobs on the regular. Isaiah’s whole body jerks like he’s releasing an electric current. Yeah, Ice Bradley comes like lightning, what, Bucky’s not great with metaphors, especially when there’s teeth digging into his bottom lip.

Isaiah pants, and twitches everywhere, fingers, lips, thighs, everywhere. He makes these soft little whimper noises every time he tries to breathe.

Bucky kisses them away, softer now, so Isaiah at least has the chance to get some air. When he’s about 10% recovered, Bucky slides closer, slipping his knee between Isaiah’s and joining him on the end of the deck chair. Wrapping his elbows around Ice’s neck, he buries his hands into his hair and grinds against Isaiah’s stomach. Bucky makes this ridiculous embarrassing noise just thinking about —just the feeling—all the hard muscle around his dick.

And he figures out it’s Isaiah jerking him off. His hand is warm and more calloused than Steve’s and a little damp, and he’s moving a little too slow, still. Bucky rocks his hips again, and then again, harder, encouraging. Isaiah gets the picture. He tightens his grip and gives him a long, rough stroke.

“Jesus shitting  _ Isaiah—” _

Bucky grinds down into all the feelings, Ice’s abs and his rough palm, the hot friction of their stomachs sliding together.

“Fucking God of holy fucking—”

Isaiah winds his other arm around Bucky’s waist and holds him close. He kisses away the curses.

Water splashes behind him and Bucky distantly registers hands on his hips and  _ water is not lube Steve Rogers we’ve talked about this _ but it’s okay because before he can think anymore, Steve’s finger curls gently into his ass. Just one, slipping easily inside. The other fingers curve around the big muscles there, parting Bucky for easy access, and yeah, Steve’s hand is  _ hot, _ literally, that temperature—hot tubs are great. 

Isaiah’s hand drifts down and toys with the idea of joining Steve’s. Like, considers it. 

But then his other hand tightens around Bucky’s dick again, so it doesn’t matter because Bucky sees  _ white, _ it’s like full-searing sunlight at eleven PM, holy fuck, and that’s it. That’s it, he comes in the warm space between Ice’s stomach and his own, and moans like that’s gonna make it easier.

He gasps and rides it out, rocking and flinching in Isaiah’s lap. Their foreheads press together. Their noses bump together. They fight over the same air.

With a loud crack, the chair buckles under them.

Bucky’s heart ratchets and he shoots to his feet. He slips a little on the slick concrete. Instantly, Steve secures his waist from behind, so he doesn’t fall.

The chair doesn’t quite collapse—must have just been one leg, or something. Isaiah looks up at Bucky, his eyes and his mouth perfectly round. Then his face implodes and he just  _ cackles. _ Bucky laughs, too, a little weaker and a little heart-attack induced, but like. Holy shit.

Bucky eases back onto his own, undamaged chair and watches Isaiah teeter backwards with howling, full-body laughter. 

It’s a wonder of the world, to be honest. The way Isaiah arches back onto the chair, the way his muscles twitch, the way golden light spills into the sharp cut of his muscles and the vee of his hip-bones. His knees splay and he throws an arm over his eyes.

Bucky leans close again and kisses Ice’s forearm.

“Holy shit,” Ice chuckles. “I just got head from Steve Rogers.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, grinning. “You’ll never get used to it, either,” he adds truthfully. Then they both kind of figure out the implication, there; the way Bucky just used future tense like it wasn’t nothing, and Isaiah lifts his arm to look in Bucky’s eyes.

They smile again. They kiss again. 

Bucky sits back and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Sorry, Steve,” he says. “Didn’t mean to leave you hanging. I couldn’t wait anymore.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Steve says. He sinks back into the frothing water, but not before Bucky sees that Steve is also fully naked. “I couldn’t wait either.”

Beat.

“Did you jack off into the hot tub?” Bucky demands.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Easier to clean up than you two,” he says, swiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“Yeah,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Okay.”

Steve wags his finger at the two of them. “Clean up before you get in my bed. Both of you.”

Isaiah gapes. “What?”

“You wanna stay?” Bucky asks, a little gentler than Steve, because for fuck’s sake, Steve, you just sucked the guy’s brains out of his dick, after all.

“Here?” Isaiah asks. He props himself on his elbows. The laughter evaporates off his face.

“Well,” Bucky allows. “Like, inside. In the house. Not out—but yeah. Here.”

“Like … with y’all?”

“Yeah?” Bucky says it like a question, because it’s perfectly normal to feel shy after coming all over a dude’s abs. He stands up and gives Isaiah a hand. “But I think we need a shower, first.”

**Author's Note:**

> steve and bucky are gonna have to buy stronger lawn chairs.


End file.
